Thursday, July 31, 2014

Sometimes I love the Internet. Many years ago, when he was still active and working, the late Karl Edward Wagner published two stories in his old Year's Best Horror series by a writer I'd never heard of: John Gordon. The two stories were amazing and effective and chilling. They deserved to be there, and it was a rare honor for one author to have more than one story in a DAW Year's Best Horror.But old Gordon was a complete unknown to me, then. Wagner went on to state that, effectiveness aside, the stories had been published in a collection meant for children/young adults! I was floored. What? Are they trying to traumatize the kiddies in the UK?! So I set about trying to find a copy of the collection from whence these two amazing yarns. It was called CATCH YOUR DEATH AND OTHER GHOST STORIES. But here I was in the USA and there was the book and its publisher in the UK. And keep in mind, this was in the days before the Internet.Try as I might, I just could not land a copy. Apparently the book went out of print quickly and no US distributor had picked it up. Whenever I heard a close friend mention that they were going to the UK I would give them the book title and author and ask them to search for it. No luck.After some years, I located a few copies, but at $200 to $300 each they were just way the hell out of my price range. In due course, I just forgot about ever being able to own a copy.Until last week. I was trolling the Net looking for books and decided to key in CATCH YOUR DEATH by John Gordon. It popped up. Not a huge surprise--they sometimes do, with a high price attached. But this time...99 cents!! WTF?! I didn't debate and I didn't even bother to look too closely at the fine print. I just grabbed it, paid the small shipping charge, and waited to see if the book would actually come.Today, it did. And a copy in very good condition, indeed! Only a small nick on the back cover, otherwise in fine condition.I am a happy reader today.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Recently I picked up the novel THE DOG STARS by Peter Heller. I almost passed on it for several personal reasons, but opted to get it and give it a shot.

I'm glad I did because the novel is pretty good. I don't think it's a great novel or a classic, but it was a lot of fun.It's the story of a couple of survivors of an apocalyptic event that has pretty much wiped out the human race. One reason that I liked the book so much is that the author got the causes right for what is eventually going to do us all in: the environmental degradation that our species has inflicted on Mother Earth. The protagonist of the story, Hig, ofter refers to the mass extinctions we caused, the climatic changes we brought, and the damage we did to the planet. The final straw is a nasty flu virus that sweeps across the globe killing almost everyone who contracts it. And then that disease is followed by another blood disorder that inflicts a lingering death on those who survived the flu.Heller did the story perfectly, to my way of thinking. These are all things that we have done to the Earth. We have fouled the air, and polluted the water, and ruined the land. It's as if we're all waiting for the big pandemic to come and put end on us. I can buy his reasoning because it rings so beautifully true.Another thing that I liked is that the author kept things simple. For two-thirds of the novel we are presented with the narrator, Hig; his dog, and his fellow survivor--a very scary and imposing monster named Bangley who would be a villain in any other context but the one in which we find this lonely trio.They are settled in at an abandoned airstrip surrounded by vast homes previously owned by the pampered millionaires who built their McMansions close to the small airport for easy access to their private flying machines. And that's another nice twist to the tale: Hig is an amateur pilot of some skill, and he uses his small plane to make supply runs to various places and to scout for the marauders--people who have also survived the flu but who are anything but nice folk. That's why he needs Bangley, who is only too happy to kill anyone who comes anywhere near their final redoubt.The story was written in a fairly unique, affected style that was okay. I could see it as a way to illustrate the narrator's almost mortally wounded psyche. It's different enough so that you notice it, but not so alien that it gets on your nerves. I think Heller did a good balancing act here and I rather liked the take on what he did. That style changes as the book progresses, as Hig changes and grows and seems to become...different as the story unfolds. Different, if not exactly normal.I can give the book a high recommendation.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

My wife and I once stayed overnight at a house with another couple--family members. We arrived a tad early to their house and no one was home. I could hear a dog raging in their back yard. Absolutely pure foaming-at-the-mouth raging. I encounter this from time to time in my job as a letter carrier. I'm kind of antsy and don't like to sit still, so I told Carole that I was going to walk up the driveway and have a look at the dog (it was behind a fence, so figured it would be fairly safe to just look).The dog was there. A medium sized short-hair cur-dog of forty or fifty pounds, I'd say. Of no particular breed or type. It was the color of a maggot and had kind of a shrunken skull and a rat-like countenance. It was not a pretty beast.The dog was in a froth of anger. At what? At me? At another dog that was nearby? I can't say. I assume that it's just a shit-crazy dog.But sometimes I have learned that you can get some dogs like that to calm the Hell down by talking to them. So I did that, in a level voice that I hoped was soothing. It did no good. Instead, the dog seemed even more upset than before, almost going into a shaking bout of pure bloody fury. My wife came halfway up the drive and saw this monster and asked me to get away from it. She was not so foolhardy as I was.So I left the creepy animal and retreated to our vehicle.After a while our hosts appeared and we unloaded our luggage and were shown our bedroom. All seemed okay. We went out, had dinner, and returned to the house. We were shown around again...and then it was decided that they would see what would happen if they let this withering creep of a dog into the house. That is, they wanted to see how it would react to us. Their little drooling, chomping baby.We were in a kind of activity room on the lower floor of the house. A sliding door was opened and the horrible animal came in. It did not come barreling at us, jaws ablaze, but it definitely did not like us. It growled and snapped. Instead of disciplining the vile thing, the owners comforted it and petted it and made it feel that its display of aggression was the right choice.I realized that we were at the mercy of this mucking hound and its two clueless owners.My first thought was to be honest and just leave the house. But this was family who I hadn't seen in some time, so I bit my tongue and took my chances. We weren't attacked, but I consider that just blind luck and my own caution.It takes a special kind of asshole to put two human guests through something like that over an obviously vicious, inbred, mentally retarded canine. I've never forgotten it.

In the local parlance of comic collecting, the term "beater" refers to a comic book that is in extremely low grade that you are willing to add to your collection for various reasons. Usually, the reason is that you're having a hard time locating the issue in any condition at all, and you're going to let this one serve as a place-holder until you can locate a copy in acceptable and higher grade.One of my oldest Charlotte friends (Tom Smith--no relation) is actually a customer on my mail route. We have the same tastes in old comics with a couple of shared passions: Silver Age Jack Kirby comics and Golden Age Carl Barks comics. He had recently upgraded his copy of Four Color #189 and, since I don't have a copy, he sold me his old, low-grade copy for what he paid for it in 2000! I was more than happy to get the book for about the price of lunch!So, now I have a "beater" copy of the book in my collection. I'd been trying to buy one for some time. And I doubt I'll ever bother to upgrade it. This one is fine for me.

My low-grade copy of Four Color #189, starring Donald Duck and the nephews!

Friday, July 25, 2014

Among my favorite writers of ghost and weird stories is yet another British author, John Gordon. Most of his work is considered for young adults, but almost all of it is exceptional in some way and can be appreciated by older readers. He excels at old-fashioned ghost yarns and for years I sought to buy a copy of his collection CATCH YOUR DEATH AND OTHER GHOST STORIES. But the copies I'd find were generally too expensive for my budget and I'd have to pass. Recently, I landed an original hardback copy, but as it has yet to arrive from the UK, I'll hold comments on the contents until it arrives (I'd read some of the stories therein, presented in the late Karl Wagner's YEAR'S BEST HORROR STORIES).

This week I read one of his more recent novels, THE FLESH EATER (1998). This is a young adult novel concerning a fellow in his late teens. I don't recall that his exact age is ever mentioned, but for some reason I assumed him to be between 17 and 19 years old. A likeable and physically imposing young gentleman with relatively wealthy parents who own a very large hotel in a village in the Fens. The hero, one Harry Hogge has the enviable quality of attracting pretty girls. And the girls are what get him entangled in a mystery that soon becomes rather dangerous and equally chilling.

The writing here is classic Gordon. Which is to say it's also classically Jamesian. The thing about the plot that eventually got on my nerves is that I realized about three quarters of the way into the novel that it's just a re-telling of "Casting the Runes" by M. R. James himself. It wouldn't have much bothered me except that it's so much like that classic story (the source material for the excellent film CURSE OF THE DEMON) that it got on my nerves. I could give it a pass if it had been a bit less like the story...but it is not. At a certain point the plots are pretty much paralleling one another.

Still and all, I'm glad I read it. I always learn something new about writing when I chance across a well-constructed novel. This is certainly a well written book, but I wish the plot hadn't been so much like something so famous from the author who has obviously most influenced Mr. Gordon.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

I'm way too tired and too busy to post much! No essays and no fiction excerpts! Sorry! Maybe in the next few days.In the meantime, I picked up a nifty book for my collection. And here's a shot of our cat, Lilly, taking advantage of the nice warm bed after Carole got up to get ready for work. Lilly's no dummy!

As usual lately, I got a great deal on this book. I've been told that this issue contains the first professional comics work by John Romita, Sr.! I'm not sure, so I'll have to research it.

Friday, July 18, 2014

I haven't taken a solo backpacking trip in a while. I'm beginning to plan for a multi-day backpacking excursion. To the extent that I'm not even sure when I'm going to take it. Likely it will be in the Fall. I doubt that I'll do any part of the Appalachian Trail because that place has become just way the heck too crowded for my tastes. There are some trail loops in the Great Smoky Mountains back country that I've wanted to traverse for some time, but again I'll have to make sure I won't be dealing with lots of people. I want some solitude, not bumping into big groups of people as I hike.There are a couple of lesser used longer distance trails that I am also considering. The Art Loeb Trail has long been on my radar, and I'll check out doing a piece of that one. It's very high on my list of considerations. And there's the one that many people take when they don't want to deal with the AT crowds but want to hike for a number of miles without crossing over one road after another: Benton MacKaye Trail. And there's also the Bartram Trail.I'm leaning toward the Art Loeb Trail because I could do the entire length of it in three days of moderate hiking. It would be easy for my wife to drop me off in the high country and pick me up where the other terminus lies at Davidson River.We'll see. I just need to get out and find some solitude in the high country.

Middle Prong Wilderness.

With the exception of the cascade, all of these other photos were taken in the Southern Nantahala Wilderness on the NC/GA border. I'm not quite sure I recall where the photo of the small waterfall was taken.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Some years back, when I got out of the comic book retailing business, I swore off the industry. I didn't even want to write for the comic book industry anymore, abandoning my nascent career in selling comic scripts to various publishers. I was completely burned out on the literary/art form.Years passed. For a long time I didn't so much as crack the covers of a comic book or enter the doors of a comic book shop. If I passed by a rack of comics in any kind of retail establishment I tended to ignore them.But, somewhere along the way, nostalgia began gnawing at the old bones. So I picked up a few low-grade copies of The Amazing Spider-Man created/written/penciled/inked by Steve Ditko. I got a kick out of the books (I think they were issues #16 and #19), so I figured, 'What the heck? I could probably buy all of the Ditko issues in low to mid-grade without too much trouble'. So, I set about doing that.Then I decided that I wouldn't mind owning a lot of the pre-hero Marvel comics that Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko created together, and I started collecting those, too. And then, I decided to take a crack at buying a complete set of Fantastic Four, but only the issues created/written/penciled by Jack Kirby.I was, of course, hooked again on comics. And I've been at it for some time, carefully assembling a collection of the titles that I want the most and having no desire whatsoever to again enter the business of retailing at any level. But one of the things that amazes me is that I got back into it buying lower grade copies of the books I grew up loving. That way I could actually handle and read the books without having to worry about risking my "investment". And I do read my old comics, unlike so many who just pursue it as a kind of pure investment strategy, seeking to keep them in as high a grade as is possibleBut something really weird has happened in the past couple of years. And it's that lower grade copies of the Silver Age books that I have been buying have exploded in value. Books that I thought would never be in high demand are just that. People are paying crazy prices for the kinds of books that I would once never have considered selling for anything more than pennies.It's a crazy world.

Wednesday, July 09, 2014

I just picked up this novel. NOOGIE'S TURN TO SHINE by Jim Knipfel. I like his work. Known mainly as the author of the autobiographical works SLACKJAW, RUINING IT FOR EVERYONE, and LEAVING THE NAIROBI TRIO, he has left the world of memoir for that of fiction. He seems to have some disdain for the fact that he wrote three autobiographical works before he was even forty, but the authorship of the mundane is actually fertile territory these days and it put him in the company of guys like Bukowski and Pekar.Knipfel worked for many years in the world of small, independent newspapers and did some good work there. I recall that he did a great interview with Harry Crews in which his own personality came through and was not totally squashed by that of Crews; and that's a pretty damned big achievement, to my way of thinking. Still, I really dig his fiction. The first one he did was THE BUZZING and that one was a real hoot. It was based partially on his experiences working for a (very) small newspaper and was jam-packed with irony. I highly recommend that one. So I've now picked up this newer work (2007).

The story features one Ned "Noogie" Krapzcak aka Crap Sack. He's a low-paid security guard for an independent company that installs and furnishes electronic cash machines. One day, after a $20 bill accidentally sticks to his shoe, the otherwise honest worker bee decides to start stealing money from his route of cash machines. Six million dollars into his scheme, he's found out and hits the road with his booty stashed in laundry bags. Yeah...he's not too bright.It's a very good book. I really like Knipfel's style of writing. Terse and plain, with a fair number of movie references which I've always found odd for a guy who's going blind. The memories abide, I reckon.I discovered Knipfel's work when I was winding down from a binge of the Beat writers. There's enough of that style in his work that it appealed to me then and it still does.Give his books a try.

Tuesday, July 08, 2014

I forgot to mention that on July 4th we broke out the ice cream machine for the first time in years and did the home made ice cream deal. It was great! Vanilla ice cream, but we had all sorts of stuff to add as toppings. Fresh strawberries. Chocolate syrup. Pecans in syrup. Etc. It was glorious.

One thing about this July 4th was that Hurricane Arthur had passed to the east of us, sucking up all of the heat and humidity and depositing it to points elsewhere. The weather for about five days after was absolutely flawless. Clear cut blue skies. Almost no humidity. Highs in the mid-70s. It was like a dream. All at home. No crowds. No noise. No fireworks. No false and disgusting platitudes. Just peace, and quiet, and family.

Sunday, July 06, 2014

Over my writing career I have had to contend with the old writer's block. I have friends who have bouts with it that last for years. They'll produce widely published work and then vanish from the face of publication for two, three years at a stretch. I'll ask them what's been going on and they'll admit that they have been suffering from writer's block. For years. They always tend to break out of it, but the bouts can quite actually last that long.I've been generally lucky in that regard. When the fiction is flowing and nothing on Earth can stop me from writing I wonder how something like writer's block can even occur. But for the past few weeks I have been dealing with it. I'll sit before the wordprocessor and...nothing. I have deadlines, both official and self-imposed. It doesn't matter. Nothing comes.This is one reason that I started blogging. It keeps me in the habit of writing and gets the neurons firing so that writer's block doesn't become an issue for me. But it hasn't helped me much on this current problem. I think I know what's at the base of it, but that doesn't make breaking out of it a whole lot easier. I just have to struggle through this project and I'll be okay. Light at the end of the tunnel and all that.One thing that I do know is that I have a lot more respect for those who can hack write. Write for a specific project, on demand, for a fee. Like the pulp authors of old, these folk have my respect, because I surely can't do it. If I don't completely believe in a project I find myself with an almost insurmountable problem.Onward!

Friday, July 04, 2014

I landed another hard-to-find Golden Age Joe Simon/Jack Kirby comic for my collection. This one is WIN A PRIZE COMICS #1. Simon and Kirby were trying anything and everything in the years they were working to be largely independent creators. Buy the comic and send in your name and address for a chance to win a prize! I think this title was part of the material that Charlton Comics bought from Simon and Kirby when their own publishing scheme faded.The title failed, but it's an interesting package. Contained are stories of war, science-fiction, mystery, humor, drama, classics. Included are the type of yarn that Kirby later did for Marvel that were claimed to have been written by his editor there. I'd laugh, but it's all too said.I had initially purchased this comic with an eye toward re-selling it for a profit (I got a really good deal on it). However, it's such a neat book that I think I'll keep it as a permanent part of my Kirby collection.

Wednesday, July 02, 2014

I've been tinkering with the still-unpublished manuscript for THE CLAN, the sequel to THE FLOCK.

When the Little People had come to the Land, one of
the first things they’d learned was to talk to the dogs who’d come with them.
Mostly, the dogs listened to what they had to say, which were pretty simple
concepts. But occasionally there was the odd stubborn or just hateful dog that
had to be dealt with. Of course in those early times, when humans had initially
entered the territories of the Clans, there hadn’t been that many dogs; and
there hadn’t been very many people. But even in those first days it had been
found that talking and negotiating with the dogs was imperative.

There were, of course, rules that
had to be followed. Everyone knew this, and the continued survival of the Clans
made it absolutely clear that these traditions were good and right. This is
what had seen them all through countless seasons. Their voices still carried on
the mountain winds and could be heard mixing with the cascades that tumbled
down from the glaciers. This was proof that the old ways were the good ways and
should continue to be honored.

Now the human beings were numbered
so that it was impossible to conceive of their mass. And the dogs, too, were on
the land like fleas. Dogs were not like their cousins the wolves and coyotes
and foxes. They were almost as easy to deal with, but there was something
chaotic and frustrating with the way they saw the world. This was, it was
known, because they had become adhered to the ones who had become their
masters. Some dogs freed themselves of that. They were sometimes heard barking
from ridges or banding together in poorly organized packs that tried to howl
and make themselves heard in something that approximated sanity. But these dogs
were rare. Most of them were swallowed up by the coyote and wolf packs; as
meals or as members, but swallowed they generally were.

Now the land of plenty was
shrinking. The humans had squeezed it down and down until there was not much of
it left that was free of their stinking crowds and free of their noise and
their mischief. Some clan members had advocated a changing of the old ways, in
some attempt to deal with the flood of human flesh that moved across the
mountains and into the valleys like foul water. So far, though, those voices
had been silenced and forced into thoughts that were not given vent. This was
good.

In time, it was hoped and thought
by most of the Clans, that the humans would fade. The land could not possibly
support so many of them. Stories had come to them all of the earth made dead by
the constant squatting of so many of them on the face of the world. And most of
the members of the clans had traveled safely to see how the humans who lived
nearby could foul and poison everything that they touched. Rivers were killed.
Fish stocks were depleted. The air around their encampments, where they resided
in permanent lodges, stank so that it was painful to endure it for very long.
These things were evident. The humans, it was believed, could not last forever.
Eventually, they would have to either change their ways or go away.

It was proven that things could go away.

The lions with great fangs—fearful
creatures that lived now only in the collective memories of the Clans—had been
cleared from the land by the humans. There had once been creatures so large
that they were like hills of hair and ivory. These, too, had been hunted and
consumed until there were none remaining. The humans seemed not even to
remember them. They knew this because there had been attempts to communicate
with the humans. But the small, puny, hateful things could not speak. They couldn’t
even truly speak to the dogs with whom they incessantly traveled. Strangely,
dogs and humans could not talk to one another. Not in the way that was right
and natural. This was another puzzle to the Clans, and something to be pondered
as time progressed.

Big Hand of the Elk Clan thought of
these things as he struggled with the communications he’d attempted with the
dogs who had recently appeared. These dogs had proven exceedingly stubborn.
They would not speak directly to him, and he could only detect their intentions
obliquely, by listening to the negative commentary that passed from one to the
other. They were in a small pack, led by a human who, as usual, lay back and
waited for results that Big Hand could only guess. This was the way many humans
hunted. He’d seen them doing this for years, and the clans all knew that this
was how they stalked many of the same animals that sustained the clans
themselves.

Generally, these dogs could be reasoned with. Or they
could be dissuaded from getting too close to clan families. Sometimes they
could be frightened away, or warned off through violence. But there was always
another path to take whenever the unfortunate occurred and the dogs would not
leave the clans in peace.

About Me

I'm a laborer. Formerly I worked as a letter carrier for the USPS. I'm also a writer with over seventy published short stories, hundreds of pages of comic book scripts, scores of reviews, and several novels, among them THE FLOCK. In July 2009, Angry Films announced that they'd optioned the film rights to my novel, THE FLOCK via Warner Brothers. I also edited the Poe-themed anthology EVERMORE for Arkham House Books. My short story collection, A CONFEDERACY OF HORRORS was published by Hippocampus Books in 2015. I'm always had at work on another novel and the occasional short story.
All contents of this blog are copyright by James Robert Smith.